


i feel your flames

by seekingtomorrow



Category: Marvel (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 15:56:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8167633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekingtomorrow/pseuds/seekingtomorrow
Summary: The Phoenix itself is strange.  Its presence is something Emma’s always been taught to dread, but when she first feels the brush of flaming feather against her cheek, there is no heat.  Avengers vs. X-men AU where Emma is the last remaining member of the Phoenix Five.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this really quickly so i expect there will be some grammatical errors amongst other things. i've always wanted to write x-men fic and since emma/jean is so important to me, i figured i'd go with that.

The Phoenix Force feels a little something like this.

There’s a burning sensation, warmth at the tips of her ears each time she uses her telepathy. It’s strange, but not altogether uncomfortable. The Phoenix itself is strange. Its presence is something Emma’s always been taught to dread, but when she first feels the brush of flaming feather against her cheek, there is no heat. 

The power it gives her is beyond her wildest imaginings and suddenly, the world is at her fingertips; labyrinthine minds unfurl like flowers beneath her lightest touch and bend to her will without the slightest hesitation. It’s an addicting feeling, this strength, and even on her worst days, Emma feels like she could take on the world. 

Then, the first of them fall.

That’s when the dreams begin.

Night beckons to her with long crooked fingers and Emma finds herself lured to sleep in spite of the constant stress around her. She dreams. At first, there are only glimpses, and even those are fraught with darkness. She can make out the pinpricks of light that dot her dreamscape as stars, and the lulling calm of deepest blue as the ocean, but there are no more details than that. There is only wide open space that stretches for miles on end, unyielding and resistant to the light Emma tries to beckon. 

Eventually, the dreams take on details and with it, feeling. The blue of the ocean that had once calmed her senses suddenly fill her with dread, anxiety curling in the pit of her stomach. She can feel herself choking even though there is no water creeping into her lungs. Then, the landscape changes and she is no longer adrift at sea. The blackness of space stretches before her and she is powerful! She shakes her wings out and soars through the dark, and there is a terrible, terrible hunger gnawing at her. It screams for sustenance, for life, and Emma cannot deafen its cries. She is red, terrible and beautiful, and red as blood, red as the setting sun, red as the flames at her fingertips.

However, in the deepest part of her, there is fear, though fear is nothing before the Phoenix! The Phoenix is life incarnate! The Phoenix takes and it gives and—

Emma usually wakes up at this part, assuaged by the growing heat in her chest and the heavy thump of her heart beating a jagged rhythm. Every morning, she looks in the mirror and cannot say whether or not she is relieved. After all, there cannot be red fire when all she sees is white diamond.

Illyana and Piotr fall, driven by their hubris and the yearning desire for wholeness that the Phoenix often inspires in its hosts. Then Scott succumbs to its growing darkness. Emma often remembers the rigid set of his fingers, stiff and curled as he fought the pain. 

The warmth she usually feels when using telepathy grows into an almost unbearable heat, though Emma is iced over, the points of her heart barbed and twisted, so she does not feel the fire. Her hands tremble though, and she sees red where she ought to see white, a haze obscuring her vision and settling into the whites of her eyes.

And as levels of her power change, so do her dreams.

This time, nothing is red. There is only the thick grittiness of smog in her throat and a chill that seeps into the marrow of her bones and burns her heart with its iciness. 

Then, the smog clears before a flaming figure in the sky. It descends and the very presence of it fills Emma with warmth. Her limbs cry out at the wildly fluctuating temperatures, but she has felt worse, and so she ignores the pain.

The figure is familiar and although, they’ve adopted the Phoenix as their own, Emma later cannot recall what they looked like. In her panic, she strikes out with her psionic abilities, though they simply dissipate before the Phoenix, wisps of smoke coiling off in the distance.

“You must let go,” the figure says and it reaches towards Emma, who flinches away. It stops, though its wings begin to curl around the two. Emma sees the fire on both sides and prepares to withstand its burning touch, but when the flames finally brush against her, there is nothing.

“I will not hurt you,” says the figure in a voice that is Emma’s and Scott’s and Illyana’s and someone else’s, though Emma cannot recall. The figure is red, true red like the red of lifeblood and dusky sky before sunset. 

“You should not shoulder this burden alone,” the figure continues, “you must live.” Reaching towards Emma who stands still this time, the figure embraces her. 

Emma feels the pull on her mind, like a lock clicking smoothly open. The heat in her head dissipates further until she is left with nothing but the empty comfort of her own mind. Relaxing into the figure, she presses her brow to its shoulder. One moment, she thinks, just one moment of weakness shouldn’t matter to J— who won’t judge her anyways. 

(Who is this Phoenix? Why is their touch a cool comfort one moment, a serene warmth another?)

“Live, Emma. Live.” The figure says, pulling away from the woman. Emma opens her mouth to protest. Who does this person think they are? Of course Emma is going to live. A little tragedy, a little conflict, it only makes victory sweeter. Emma is as much a survivor as any of the mutants. 

“All I ever did was die on you,” says the figure. Its flames begin to flicker, swaying like candlelight sinking to the last of its wick. 

As the flames die out, Emma can finally see past the intensity of the light, into the face of the figure. They smile back at her, a soft expression that crinkles the corners of their eyes and reminds Emma that the Phoenix isn’t evil at all. 

“Goodbye, Emma,” whispers Jean. The last of the light finally winks out and Emma awakens.

The Phoenix is gone.


End file.
